


Shore Leave

by f_fandom



Series: Jim and Spock One-shots [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom James T. Kirk, Cabin Fic, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Insecure James T. Kirk, James T. Kirk Has Issues, M/M, POV James T. Kirk, POV Spock (Star Trek), Possessive Spock (Star Trek), Shore Leave, T'hy'la, Top Spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_fandom/pseuds/f_fandom
Summary: In the early months of their relationship, Jim and Spock spend shore leave together in a cabin during the winter. Mandatory fireside sex ensues.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: Jim and Spock One-shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153928
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54





	Shore Leave

The front door closed behind Jim as he entered sideways with two duffle bags and other carriers under his arms. The real wooden floor creaked under his boots and the stone fireplace sat cold and empty. Spock stood on the far side of the cabin’s living room, his hands working together in subtle worry behind his back. He stared out the window at the mountain woods as if waiting for something to happen.

“I believe it is going to snow,” he said.

Jim deposited the bags by the large navy sofa and put his hands on his hips. “Well yeah, sweetheart. I told you it was going to.”

“But I surveyed the weather reports. From all the stations. And calculated the odds myself for every negative scenario.” Spock’s eyebrows were furrowed and his utter confusion matched his dismay. He was adorable. He thinned his lips and shook his head again.

“It does not make sense.”

“You’re saying you didn’t believe me?” Jim asked. He raised an eyebrow in perfect imitation of his husband. “I told you. I just know these things.”

Spock sighed and dropped his hands. His shoulders hunched slightly and Jim bit his lip in order not to laugh. Spock tilted his head. “You predicted the weather pattern through no foreseeable logic or meteorological equation, but on a...feeling alone.”

Jim took one of the bags to the kitchen and poured fresh, unreplicated coffee grounds into the machine he’d made sure was provided before he booked this cabin for shore leave. He put some supplies in the cooler began organizing he rest. He poured water into the machine and into the kettle he’d also made sure would be there. He set the tin box of tea he’d packed for Spock—his favorite flavors of spice. He braced his hands on the wooden counter and leaned forward, waiting for their beverages to brew.

“If you must know, it’s not uncommon for humans to say that they feel things like approaching bad weather in their bones. Old injuries, for instance, might ache. My grandmother used to say that she knew a tornado was coming when her knee started stabbing her again. I...started being able to test that theory when I was still relatively young, thanks to Frank.”

He hadn’t known he was going to say all that. Spock’s hands suddenly met his shoulders, but he hadn’t heard him approach. Jim could feel the straining current of anger in Spock's fingers and the throbbing heat from his mind. Energy that pulsed with grief and fury and violent protection that sought to wrap itself around Jim.

“Tell me.” Spock’s voice was barely audible.

Jim turned from the counter and faced him with a sigh. “Spock, we're on shore leave, c’mon. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even brought it u—”

“No.” Spock shook his shoulders, rubbing the muscle with his thumbs. “We are t’yl’ara. We share hardships as well as joys. Your trust honors me. I already know of this... _Frank_ from when you have briefly mentioned him before. Please, Jim. Tell me.”

Scents of coffee began to fill the kitchen and Jim closed his eyes to breathe it in. Let it ground him. “Tell you what, exactly, Spock? How I could tell the weather was going to snow? Well, right now, I feel it everywhere, I gotta tell you. This coffee coming up here is going to have some bourbon in it.”

Spock narrowed his eyes. “Doctor McCoy provides you with alcohol for our shore leave?”

“Well, not knowingly. He’ll figure it out when we get back, I’m sure. It was a very thoughtful provision. And I got tons of dark chocolate for you...”

 _“Jim.”_ Spock leaned his forehead against Jim’s and rubbed his biceps, thick from where Jim had his arms crossed over his chest. “Tell me one place. Just one instance of where he hurt you. Where in your body did you first start to notice this...this correlation?”

The coffee machine sputtered behind him with the final bits of water filtering through. Jim had removed his coat when he entered the cabin since the first thing Spock had done was stoke the heat from the computer’s settings. He felt the coffee machine’s steam curl against his back now. Dampen the red flannel he wore. Slowly, he took apart the buttons. Spock watched his fingers as he moved down, stopping after the fourth button. He pulled the collar to the left, exposing the upper corner of his bare chest. Spock’s breathing quickened and his face remained patient and open, even as his pupils dilated in the yellow light of he kitchen’s frosted hanging fixtures. 

“He uh...” Jim licked his lips, not missing how Spock’s dark eyes darted to his mouth for a quick second. “On one of the first real beatings where he lost control, I got hit here pretty bad. I was 9 at the time, I think. There was...there was never really much food in the house, so it was up to Sam and me to fend for ourselves. This was before Tarsus, so you can imagine...”

Spock startled. He fingered the collar and rubbed it. He opened his mouth, but then closed it. He shuffled closer to crowd Jim at the counter, his other hand settling on the edge beside Jim’s hip, pressing him to continue and apologizing for his lapse in control.

“I was just making a sandwich or something. Can’t really remember. I remember the bread had started to mold... Anyway, apparently that wasn’t okay. He was only half drunk, not even at his worst. He still tossed me through a window onto the porch. Glass got stuck in there under my clavicle. I couldn’t go to the school nurse the next day or anything, so there was a small piece that stayed stuck in there for a few months that I didn’t know about until it got infected and my shit immune system did the rest and got me real sick. But the thing with Frank was it was never just one hit. He came out after me, yanked me up, and slammed me forward into the railing. It was old to begin with, and I went through it too. Flat out on the grass.”

Jim was staring at the circle of the wood in the cabinet behind Spock. He brought his hand to his shoulder and traced a small area at his collarbone. The scar was nearly gone and invisible, but he still felt it.

“It hit me right there,” he said. “Right where I’d taken the glass. I was still trying to get up with only my right arm when he came down the porch steps and pushed me onto my back. Then he pressed his boot on my throat. The heel stomped on my collarbone. He could see the blood there and just twisted his boot into where it hurt. Crushed my throat too. Must have passed out cause I woke up the next morning still there on the grass. It was winter and I had frost and ice all over me. So, in a way, it began right then and there. But he’d fractured it pretty good and crushed my larynx as well. And whenever it randomly starts hurting, I can tell it’s getting cold and then it usually ends up snowing a few days later.”

He laughed and looked at the ceiling to stay his watering eyes. They burned and he blinked. Then Spock’s mouth was covering his, pressing hard love and comfort and rage and boiling possession against his lips. A tear bled onto Spock’s cheek. When Spock pulled away, Jim saw it was Spock’s tear, and not even his own. 

Spock moved Jim’s fingers aside from his collarbone and replaced them with his own shaking ones. The soft pads were cold and Jim shivered as Spock gently traced the skin. He felt the skin almost like he was examining a new specimen. He leaned close and smelled. Jim resisted the urge to lean his face into Spock’s silky black hair.

“Does it pain you now?”

Jim shook his head. “Not really. Not compared with everything else.”

Spock’s jaw clenched. “Neither of those implications is acceptable.” 

He turned his face into Jim’s shoulder and licked him. His hands cupped around Jim’s rib cage, his thumb still holding Jim’s shirt open. He began assaulting Jim’s collarbone with his tongue, licking the edges, the dip of skin above and beneath. Then he fused his lips to the spot, sucking the skin and pressing kisses into it to replace cruelty and abuse with devotion and worship. Jim brought his hands to Spock’s elbows and hummed deep in his throat. Spock shuddered at the vibration against his mouth.

“Vulcans do not seek revenge. They do not return violence with violence. It is not the way I was taught.” He spoke softly as if discussing a theory around the Enterprise conference table. Dangerously casual. “And yet...there are those—the common denominator being those who have harmed you where and when I have been unable to protect—that I find I would gladly destroy one atom at a time over and over until the galaxies burned and still I would not be satisfied.”

Jim sighed deep as Spock’s mouth moved down his chest, lapping his pectoral and dragging his lips across the nipple. Jim knocked his head against the cabinet behind him. Spock lifted his thighs and set him on the counter, pulling himself flush into the space between Jim’s legs. Jim obediently lowered his hands to the counter beside him. But he couldn’t hold out and took Spock’s trim waist in his grip, pulling him tighter. Spock’s left hand took his neck, massaging and caressing with his thumb. His right hand roamed to Jim’s hip to find purchase. 

“You’re here now,” Jim managed to get out. “That’s all that matters, sweetheart. Shit I should have...if I’d have known you were going to do this whole examination I’d have told you about the times he came into my bedroom and held me down and—”

He nearly toppled off the counter from the speed at which Spock pushed himself away and retreated to arm’s length, standing stiff and straight. The whites of his eyes stood wide and matched the blanched state of his face. The only color sat blushed green on his cheeks as he began breathing heavily and trembled from head to foot. The hazel of his eyes had disappeared to pure black. 

Jim gasped and caught his breath, his exposed chest and throat flushed. Then he groaned and slumped. He braced his feet on the lower cabinet doors and put his elbows on his knees to cover his face. His shoulders shook. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his hair and pulled.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t even close to funny. I mean, I knew you already knew about that and Kodos, but—”

“Jim, you must _STOP_.”

“Fuck, I’m such an asshole. I’m sorry, Spock.” The fist yanking his hair started banging his head. He leaned forward so far he knew he’d probably fall. 

Spock caught his biceps and pulled him up to remove Jim’s hands from his face. He gripped Jim’s wrists. “I will not permit you to hurt yourself. Stop this. Stop at once—I am not angry. Do you hear me, Jim? I. Am _Not._ Angry with you. Look at me, ashayam. Please, Jim.”

He caressed the mounds of Jim’s cheeks with his thumbs until Jim opened his eyes. Spock put his forehead to Jim’s again and breathed slow to get Jim to match his rhythm. He kissed him and pressed compassion and calm through the bond. 

“This,” Spock began, “this is us. Our situation. Our pasts. And it is...fine. _We_ are fine.”

His limited vocabulary alerted Jim to the severity of his concern and how rattled he was. But Spock’s hands held onto his face as much for reassurance and grounding for himself as for Jim.

“What has happened to you against your will is not _fine,_ however. You are right that it is _certainly_ not a joking matter and I am disturbed by your humor towards your safety—past, present, and future. But I am not surprised at it and this is not the time for that. I know you have had to survive unthinkable things by turning trauma to triviality. I am not disappointed in you, my Jim. I am here for you. You cannot shock or scare me away.”

Jim had closed his eyes again, letting his face lean into Spock’s hands as he controlled his breathing and relaxed. 

“My reactions,” Spock continued, “are...I am sorry if I gave you the impression that I was angry with you. It is never with you, ashayam. I responded...It is instinctive...I must meditate, but this is...” He sighed. “This is nothing from which we cannot move on. We are on shore leave, as you said. Let us ease these emotions and turn our attention toward more pleasurable activities.”

Jim turned his face into Spock’s hand to kiss his palm. Spock shuddered and hummed deep contentment in his throat. Spock’s other hand clenched his hair where he’d begun caressing Jim’s scalp. Jim pressed as much love and worship through he bond as he could. 

“I do like pleasurable activities,” Jim murmured. “Can one of them be eating? I’m hungry.”

“I agree. And I also...can appreciate where you were attempting to go with your line of logic, even if...the mere image of you with that monster...”

Spock’s jaw trembled and he closed his eyes. The lines of his face seemed etched in stone. His nostrils flared as he controlled his breathing. Jim reached for his face, but Spock shook his head and opened his eyes, still black hard. But in sultry seduction now. Slow.

“You mentioned food, James...I too am hungry...” His thumb pressed into the side of Jim’s neck. The other worked at the buttons of Jim’s shirt and slipped inside to caress his chest. He cupped Jim’s pectoral muscle and traced his nipple with the pad of his thumb. His eyes hardened further as Jim gasped and tried to push out his chest into Spock’s touch. 

“I desire to swallow you whole, Jim, and lap up every drop...Wasting, after all—”

“—is illogical,” Jim breathed. His chest heaved and he whined at the openly predatory look Spock gave him. 

“I will teach you...” Spock’s voice dropped even lower. Jim could see the base of his throat vibrating. Spock took his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “To stop interrupting me.”

Spock’s other hand left his shirt and traced down and back up his thigh to Jim’s thick erection. His thumb traced the inner seam of Jim’s jeans inside his thigh, closer and closer to the crotch. Jim’s eyes rolled and he smacked his head on the cabinet again. This time, Spock’s hand caught it and cushioned it. He gasped and his mouth fell open to Spock’s control. “Yes, please,” he rasped. Then the possessive lust from Spock’s mind snapped shut like a light. Jim lurched forward at the sudden absence.

“Very well, then.” Spock released him, with seeming difficulty, and stepped back, his self-control reestablished, and a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Illogical,” Jim blurted out. He breathed heavily and glared with accusation. “Stopping was illogical, Spock. You—I was—you—”

Spock tilted his head in that adorable stance. “Indeed. Perhaps so. If I acted illogically, it is because you make me so, Captain.”

Jim stared, disbelieving. Spock’s eyes continued to smile and Jim finally grinned. Coy and deliberate. His payback to Spock would be worth it. He shook his head and swallowed deeply a few times to come down from his arousal.

“Fine then. Fuck you too, mister. Why don’t I just go chop some wood for the fireplace before it starts snowing. _You_ can finish organizing things here in the kitchen and we can make something for dinner. Maybe bake some cookies later tonight.”

“Dessert on top of dessert.” Spock nodded, approving, and Jim felt his erection spring back to life—Spock smiling at his groan. “Very well, Jim. I will have your coffee waiting. Only if you are careful. The light is already fading through the trees. I do not like the idea of you away in the dark where I cannot see you.”

Jim slipped off the counter and wrapped his arms around Spock’s waist. Spock kissed his temple and rubbed his shoulders.

“Voyeur,” Jim teased.

Spock tilted the corner of his mouth. “Yes.” He pulled the dark blue ski hat from his back pocket that Jim had given him to wear. He arranged it on Jim’s head and pulled the sides tight over his ears, down so far it covered his eyes and Jim had to tilt his head up to smirk at him.

“Carry on with that, Commander.” Jim walked away slowly and turned back after he passed the cooler. He opened the door and bent forward, sticking his head in. He knew Spock loved the view of his backside whenever he wore jeans—an illogical, but aesthetically pristine apparel. He pulled out the can of whipped cream, for pie, he’d told himself when he packed it. 

“Jim, what are you doing?” Spock’s voice held both curiosity and knowing. Jim could practically see him turning up the corner of his mouth.

“Just tasting,” he said. He straightened and popped the top off the can. Then he tilted his head back to expose his neck and opened his mouth, squirting the contents in with an obscene noise from the can. He closed his lips around the nozzle and sucked the remnants into his already bulging cheeks. Whipped cream spilled out the corner of his mouth. He swallowed deeply and wiped the excess onto his finger. Jim faced Spock while he stood by the still open door and inspected the white cream on his finger. He let the door close and inserted the finger slowly into his mouth, all the way. He heard Spock choke and decided that moaning would be too cruel. Instead, he closed his eyes and silently drew the finger from his pursed lips and then sent his tongue around the perimeter of his mouth with practiced precision. Early payback to play on the intimate sensitivity of Vulcan hand associations. 

He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t help the smacking sound his lips made as he sucked on his finger a second time for good measure to clean the residue. Or, perhaps he had known that would overdo it. At least he hadn’t moaned. Out loud. Again after his mind was already swirling with images of lust and groans and hands gripping flesh. The loud keening noise he knew he made when Spock swelled inside him. 

A loud snap made him open his eyes. Spock leaned over, the broken handle of he cabinet drawer in his hand as he panted at Jim with black eyes. 

“Now really, Spock.” Jim tilted his hips and placed his hands. Spock’s eyes flew to his body and then back. His nostrils flared.

“We’re only renting this place for two days. I’m gonna have to pay for that. And anything else you break, you horny Vulcan.” 

“Jim.” 

Jim raised a teasing eyebrow and shifted to avoid letting displaying his new erection at Spock’s low voice. He could see Spock was already straining in his pants and he felt pleased enough at that. The bond sizzled anyway and Spock lowered his gaze to Jim’s crotch. The handle piece snapped in his fist.

“Go chop your wood, Jim,” he said carefully. “Or there will be no fire. And cheap furniture will not be the only thing I break.”

Jim swallowed and might have made a noise, but then glared. “You promise?”

Spock took a threatening step forward and dropped the broken handle on the counter. “As you are so fond of saying: _‘Vulcans do not lie.’_ ”

Jim raised his eyebrow in his best Spock imitation and dangled the thought, _“Yes, but you’ve already established that isn’t quite true, is it?”_

“Jim.”

“Okay fine, going. You can’t fuck me if your dick is frozen.” 

Jim bundled in a coat and zipped it up while muttering to himself. He was halfway out the back door when he stuck his head back in. The wind blew the faux fur of his hood, and he saw Spock brace his arms around his chest in the kitchen.

“I mean,” he said. “I could work the warmth back into it if you want. Whipped cream really is a poor substitute for—”

“James!”

“All right, I’m going!” 

___________________________________

Spock would never be able to get over the fiery contrast of his beloved. The sensual behavior with the whipped cream so soon after the sharing of such traumatic memories was just one example of the constant ones that Jim demonstrated. His ability to switch from one extreme to the other was as impressive as it was endearing. As it was troubling. It reminded Spock too often of the way his always animated and flamboyant Jim had turned so suddenly still behind the warp core sealant doors. A Jim always moving and enigmatic had no business existing so silently and lifelessly. Literally without life. A thought unacceptable to Spock no matter the circumstances. Once without his permission. Never again. No. 

Jim’s eyes had searched his so frightened and haunting not five minutes ago. And just now, they’d been sparkling with mischief and joy. The turn was something that happened so suddenly that Spock could never anticipate it. Perhaps in tense situations where the result was exaggerated angst or sarcasm and hurtful words or self-destruction that betrayed the true depth of his pain in attempt to appear cutting and superficially superior. Or the reverse, when his cheerfulness was so obviously orchestrated it made Spock hurt even more to know how much he must be suffering to produce such effective and persuasive competence. All around him but Spock were fooled, so practiced and perfected was Jim’s skill at manipulation.

In these more moderate shifts, though, it caught Spock by surprise. He’d come to learn that nothing with Jim was ever superficial or without meaning. Even when he became morose and brooded for days, as after a failed mission where lives were lost in a way that triggered one of his many past traumas, he was still pulsing with energy and emotion. His anger and grief, masked under authorial contemplation and remonstrations, was always open and purely defenseless to Spock’s gaze. At least now it was. In the beginning, before Jim realized its futility, he tried to shield his emotions even from Spock. As he came to understand the depths of their bond and the solace it could offer if he nurtured it with offerings of his trust, he let his mind blow like a sandstorm against Spock’s barriers when he became overwhelmed. It was his most genuine cry for care, his ravaged plea for companionship that Spock was always in the process of answering even before Jim asked, his having noticed Jim’s need already through the ache of his own need. The bond sought always to protect itself by drawing them together before they even knew it. 

At times though, Jim’s ability to so seamlessly switch behaviors still alarmed Spock. As now. He could still feel his own arousal at Jim’s beautiful and blatantly pornographic behavior. But so quickly after sharing a memory of childhood trauma, the behavior lacked the weight of its usual playfulness. Instead, Spock felt sorrow at Jim’s unconscious need to divert sad attention from himself, from his “pathetic sob stories,” as he liked to call them despite Spock’s outright admonishment of such rhetoric framing. He did not doubt Jim’s heart in the matter—he could feel Jim’s arousal as much as he knew Jim felt his. But it still came at a bittersweet cost. He needed to meditate.

Spock prepared his favorite spice tea that Jim had packed for him as Jim left and closed the back door. The smell of coffee next to it filled his senses with _Jimhomelove_ and he inhaled it deeply. Eyes still closed, he poured the heated water into his tea and let its smell join the coffee aroma. Side by side scents like these helped him focus and feel _togethersafet’y’la_. He stood straight and wrapped his fingers around the hot mug and centered his attention to it. The shape of the clay, the heat, the ridges along the handle, the moisture from the steam. The rising scent of Vulcan spice. He allowed it to draw his mind inward. He centered into his thoughts and reviewed them individually. Each breath grew longer and slower. The sound of Jim bringing the axe down on wood was a distant tick that grew quieter and quieter. But still present. Because it was Jim.

Anger was something he had to release, or it would fester and come out in silent rumination where he ended up ignoring Jim while thinking about the ways he would dismember the ones who hurt him. It would come out in short snaps when Jim spoke to him and then he would see the flash of pain in Jim’s eyes that he would masterfully cover in less than a second—but Spock knew what it looked like. He had seen it far too often, and far too often as a result of his temperament. Jim had fought him in sharing the deepest trauma of his past, and it was almost a year before he let him see, offering his meld points to Spock while he shook like a pale leaf and whispered, “Just look. I can’t...I can’t.”

Spock’s reaction had not been ideal. At seeing the horrors Winona Kirk’s partner had committed against young Jim, his young bright spirit that hardened under betrayal and anguish and secret longing for love...the attacks against his small frail body, the _unthinkable_ invasions... Spock finished the meld and found himself across the room from Jim. He’d backed to the far wall in blind horror and left Jim sitting on the bed as frightened as the small child he’d just seen. 

“He must pay,” he’d breathed after an eternity. He shook as hard as Jim and could barely get a sound past his clenched teeth. His hand crushed the metal rail of his desk chair like a tube of cardboard. 

“You have been...I must...” Spock gripped his side over his heart and bent over, his mouth open and searching for words. He’d felt like his insides were melting as his Vulcan drive demanded he seek revenge and wipe this predator from existence. Punished him with pain at his incompetence to protect his mate. He stared at Jim in anguished horror, his face reflecting confusion and loss in the wake of incendiary rage. He could not hear, but through the cloudy haze he saw Jim kneel in front of him and pull his hands away from his face.

“I’m sorry,” Jim was sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Spock. _Spock, can you hear me? Spock, please._ ”

“ _You_ are sorry? You? You cannot be— You _cannot_ —My Jim, oh my Jim, my precious Jim.” And he’d pulled his t’y’la to his chest and they sat with Jim sprawled in his lap while Spock held him and cupped the back of his neck. They both cried through the shared misery in their mind space. Waves of heartache and healing moved back and forth until Jim fell asleep and Spock held him for hours, the bond temporarily and grudgingly appeased by Spock guarding his mate.

Jim had not shown him all. Only a few instances of the abuse and neglect. While Spock was grateful in a way not to witness more, fearing his reaction, his heart burned harder knowing there was so much more his soulmate had faced alone. And that Frank was dead. Spock could not seek him out. It did not stop him, however, from locating his gravesite and exhuming the body through his own methods. Whereupon he systematically dismantled the corpse of Jim’s tormentor and snapped the bones so viciously they became dusty fragments that Spock then gathered and deposited the crushed remains in a waste processing plant. If Jim ever found out, he did not say. And Spock was sure he knew.

The steam was lessening from Spock’s tea as it faded to the kitchen’s atmosphere. He had to focus harder to cling to it. Jim’s barely concealed reference to the sexual abuse Frank had committed was made doubly difficult to release, however, since he had also innocently mentioned the name Kodos as well. Spock clenched his fists on the counter and bowed his head, breathing long exaggerated breaths. He couldn’t stop the low noise in his throat.

When Jim had showed him the events of Tarsus IV and the personal torture committed against him that he’d faced mentally, emotionally, and physically from Kodos the Executioner, Spock uncontrollably lost consciousness. He’d awoken on the floor in their then dark quarters, sweating and shaking five hours after he had initiated the meld with Jim, and Jim was nowhere to be found. The computer verified his location in the Observation Lounge and Spock went to him in his usual corner, where he sat huddled with his knees to his chest, staring at the stars. His face was wet and blanched of all color. His eyes spotted red circles, and his hair was rumpled from continual contact. One of Jim’s tells was always his hair, the way he unconsciously ran his fingers through it and gripped it hard to center himself with pain, leaving those glorious golden locks at all angles that made Spock want to smooth it and kiss it back into perfection as if soothing away the stress with each correction. 

This blow to Spock was harder to assuage through the bond’s need for vengeance. Kodos was dead and missing. His rage screamed into the void at something to destroy, anything. So Spock instead paid unfailing care to verify the abundant and emergency presence of food aboard the Enterprise at all times, that she would _never_ be without rations even in the unthinkable conditions of extended deep space separation from Starfleet contact. And in any mission parameters dealing with colonies recovering from or facing potential famine, Spock wordlessly and authoritatively handled all communication and operations. Some sensitive matter demanding the Captain’s attention and presence onboard always occurred during the mission that dictated control to his First Officer. Jim’s smile was one of both admonishment and haunted gratification. Spock would allow no other procedure, and officers questioning his command of missions involving famine colonies found themselves at the receiving end of a Vulcan’s icy glare and reprimand. And they may or may not have been found crying in a corridor corner after their shift. Though a need for this assumption of command by Spock had occurred only twice throughout the duration of their mission, Spock was happy to apply it to any and all situations where the bond demanded he protect Jim—including any future occurrences. 

This was how he’d needed to explain it to Jim, and to ‘Fleet Command. A t’y’la bond superseded protocol, provided sanction for Spock’s intervention that otherwise would not be accepted willingly by Starfleet regulation. And Starfleet still did not accept it willingly. Neither did Jim, feeling that he should be able to face any circumstance. He could not allow Spock to shield him from his duties. It was not that Jim was incapable of handling circumstances and delegations that reeked of past trauma; indeed, his determination and stalwart bravery endeared him even more to Spock in that regard. But rather, Spock had to explain time and time again (and would forever, as many times as Jim needed, and more even then), that it was his privilege and, arguably, _sacred duty_ to intervene. The bond demanded attention and protection when Jim’s soul trembled so violently. He knew Jim could handle it. But, because of their bonding, he did not have to. Not alone. Not anymore. Never again. He had help. For the first time in his life. 

Spock took the tea mug and opened his eyes to examine it: one of his favorites Jim had purchased for him on his birthday. He said he’d found it at the Earth equivalent of what he called a Renaissance Festival. It was shaped round and nearly orb-like, with a simple handle and simple coloring. Sand yellow beige with subtle stripes of pink and violet and red. It had reminded Jim of the colors on Vulcan, and Spock agreed. The texture of the hand-crafted mug even resembled unique ridges of sandstone and desert environments. It smelled permanently of spiced tea. In a separate mug, a simple one Jim used often that read “Starfleet Academy,” Spock prepared Jim’s coffee and added the hazelnut cream he always used. His hand stilled as he took the creamer from the cooler when he saw the can of whipped cream, the cap still crooked. He blushed and let himself smile.

Once he was finished, Spock took both beverages to the living room and stood near the window to observe Jim’s work. He had made progress with a small pile of firewood already set beside a large section of wood upon which he split more. The snow bunched around his boots and the tracks he’d worn while gathering and moving wood. The mountain forest behind him fell in shadows of dark navy and grey. The light of dusk was muted in low contrast. Jim’s breath fogged around his face at his exertion. His cheeks were flushed, but he looked happy. Such a menial task seemed to provide him distraction to think, as his gaze was not entirely focused on the task and seemed far away. His mind vibrated gently against Spock’s and switched from emotion to emotion. This was Jim’s form of meditation. He sensed thoughts of Starfleet, report notes to complete after shore leave, preparations for dinner tonight, activities for later. Spock did not invade to receive these thoughts, as they were casual and regular enough that they exuded easily from Jim. Their thoughts constantly hummed between each other and were received as more of sensations than distinct individual details. There was no secrecy in such average contemplations, and when they ever did feel a sense of stifled muting from the other, they trusted enough not to press. With a mind as dynamic as Jim’s, his thoughts never ceased anyway, and Spock learned their habitual patterns fairly quickly. His husband’s mind was never quiet.

Jim’s mug rested on a side table near a leather reclining chair, and Spock held his tea close to his face as he sipped it, happy to observe and “voyeur” at Jim. Even through the thick parka Jim wore, the build and shape of his long body was evident to Spock’s eyes. Spock focused on the movements, staring at Jim’s wide stance with his feet separated and his left in front of his right. The way the jeans he wore molded his strong thighs and backside as he twisted at the hips, bringing the axe up on the right side of his body, letting inertia build as it slowed slightly above his head, and then straightening his hips again as the axe came down on the wood. His gloved hands grasped the handle near the end, a few inches of space between them. His shoulders and back muscles rounded with the swing. Spock imagined the twist of abdominal muscles along his sides and above his trim hips each time he took a deep breath and swung the axe into the air. The pectoral muscles clenching along with them as he brought the axe down. 

Snow drifted into the faux fur of Jim’s coat, in the hood he’d pushed back. It gathered at the base of the cap Spock had put on Jim and dampened the flushed skin there along with the sweat as it melted. Spock wanted to run his tongue across the nape of Jim’s neck and the curve at both shoulders, to taste the mixture of fresh snow and the salt of Jim’s sweat. He’d never forgotten the look of awe and lust that had come into Jim’s eyes when he told him he did not need nor find Jim’s cologne attractive—only his own scent, and how he wished to taste it. He’d learned that it was a slight part of what made Jim’s scent so unique though, the same way that wrapping Jim in his arms and burying his face at his head to smell his hair brought the scent of the pine shampoo Jim always used. An incredible combination of scents, both natural and artificial, that made up what Spock could only describe as _Jim_ and could never be replicated. 

The snow was beginning to fall faster in its flurries now, just as Jim had predicted. Jim paused in his work and glanced behind him toward the woods. Then back at the pile he’d accrued. With a shrug of his shoulders, he buried the axe in the wood stump and gathered an armful of pieces from the ground. Spock went to open the door for him and Jim entered, shaking his head like a dog and grinning. He deposited the armful near the fireplace and went out once more to bring in the rest while Spock began arranging the pieces. Jim gave him some more and left again. Spock narrowed his eyes until Jim returned with a small pile of twigs and miniature versions of the logs he’d split.

Jim closed the door with his foot and set this new pile directly in front of the fireplace for Spock. “Have to have some kindling to start it up,” he said. “And look at this...” 

He shrugged his arms out of his coat sleeves and draped it over a chair in the kitchen before grabbing something from a packed box and heading back toward Spock. He waved it in the air.

“Matches.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and let his eyes crinkle in the way Jim called his “secret smile.” “You really are determined to make this authentic as possible, t’y’la.”

Jim plopped onto the throw rug beside him and crossed his legs. “Of course! Wait till this gets going. Some old newspaper or shreds would have helped a lot, but even these pine needles are better than nothing.”

Spock hadn’t seen the needles and pine cones in the pile of kindling. He hoped the snow had not made them too wet. He reached behind him and grabbed Jim’s coffee mug, which he handed to him.

“Oh! Thanks, sweetheart.” He took it and kissed Spock on the cheek. He drank from it with one hand while rifling through the kindling pile with the other. When Spock began unlacing his wet boots, he repositioned himself to give Spock better access while he continued to prepare the fire.

Spock watched him arrange small sections of wood into a raised cone shape, and set a some small pine cones and bunches of needles in the center. He lit a match and held it to three different areas of the needles before tossing it in. Then he leaned forward and cupped his hands around the needles to isolate them from the wind as their embers and burning edges grew gradually warmer in heat. Smoke began to build, and after a few moments of expert observation and intervention from Jim, blowing gently at the base of the embers occasionally, a small group of flames had taken residence within the cone of sticks. Over the next few minutes, Jim added more needles and pine cones, then more sticks and twigs until he took three medium sized logs and made a larger cone shape around the small one.

“You’re quite adept at this,” Spock said. Soon, the fire had taken hold and Jim could relax a bit and just watch it.

“I had lots of practice. One of those survival skill things that you didn’t have a choice but to master.”

His voice had gone quiet and Spock rubbed the back of Jim’s neck. When it came to Jim’s random skill sets, they somehow always revolved around his traumatic childhood and the events on Tarsus.

Jim leaned sideways into Spock’s arms and let himself stretch out a bit on the floor. “What should we make for dinner?”

Spock stroked Jim’s thighs over the tight material of his jeans. Jim hummed in contentment and let his right leg fall lax. 

“I would suggest we replicate something, but I know you would object.”

“Damn right I would, mister. I didn’t buy all that shit from the store so we could eat food the way we do on the ship. How about...pasta? With tomato sauce and garlic bread. And there’s that merlot we could open up. I know you don’t really care for wine, but—”

“I will consume anything you prepare, Jim, as long as you allow me to help.”

“Anything, huh?”

Jim rolled Spock onto his back and straddled his hips. He tilted his head with a smug look and leaned forward to rest his chin on his arms over Spock’s chest. The fireplace lit the left side of his face in golden flickers and shadow. Spock watched him and raised an eyebrow. He yanked the cap off Jim’s head and watched the muffled hair spring free. Jim tilted his head, knowing his hair in casual disarray aroused Spock. Actually, Spock was fairly certain Jim knew there was nothing he did that didn’t arouse him. 

“Well, I’ll definitely let you prepare some things for me later tonight, how’s that? Or I’ll take care of the preparations and make you watch me.” 

Jim rolled his pelvis over Spock’s and grinned as their hipbones knocked together. The fastening tie of Spock’s robes over his pants loosened slightly and Spock could feel the tube of lubrication in Jim’s front pocket. Lazily, Jim continued to rut against him and watch him try to retain control of his expressions. Finally he chuckled and kissed Spock on the mouth, then his nose.

“I’m going to get off of you now.”

“That would be wise if you want to save our activities until later this evening.”

“I do.” Jim stared on at him and seemed to capturing Spock’s face in this moment. The lines of worry that so readily filled his face were absent. The crystal blue of his eyes filled his gaze with peace. Spock, too, wanted to set the image to memory.  
  
“Until then,” he said, rising off the floor, “I think I’m going to put some whipped cream on my coffee.”

Amusement pushed through the bond, and Jim laughed as Spock just laid there with his eyes closed and sighed. 

_________________________________________________

Jim had taken a quick shower while Spock prepped the ingredients in the kitchen, and then he changed into a pair of sweatpants that sat low on his hips and pulled on an Academy t-shirt that he knew Spock loved since it was beginning to stretch at the neck from too much washing. Sure enough, when he reentered the kitchen with his hair still damp, Spock glanced up from the pasta and did a double-take that looked so unnatural to do that Jim barely contained a smirk. 

A fresh cup of coffee was waiting for him on the counter and he drank heavily from it, making a small moan of appreciation. He felt Spock’s eyes on him as he pulled marinara sauce and additives from the cooler. Spock drained the pasta and set to work slicing bread to place in the oven. They worked in contented silence for a few moments.

“You got the garlic and butter for that?”

“Yes, Jim.” 

“Sweet. This should be almost done soon.” 

The sauce was simmering on the stove and he leaned closer to smell it. He made a face and tossed in a few more chopped onions. He shifted to the side when Spock needed to open the oven door and slide in the tray of garlic bread. When he closed it and stood close to Jim, he raised his hand and swiped the moisture from Jim’s eyes with his thumb.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Onions don’t make your eyes water?”

Spock tilted his head. “I do not believe I have ever noticed its effects.”

“Lucky.” Jim sniffed again and handed Spock the ladle. “Stir this a moment, will you?”

He peered back into the cooler. “Merlot or Pinot?...No, the Merlot will work for this.”

Jim brought the bottle to the counter with the cork screw and felt Spock’s eyes on him again, following his hands and the shape of his arms as he twisted down into the cork and then pressed the tight side levers carefully. 

_“If you let that sauce burn, mister, cause you’re staring at me...”_

_“I am affronted that you think I would allow such a travesty to occur after your hard endeavors.”_

Jim snorted and brought the open bottle along with two glasses into the living room. He pulled the coffee table closer to the fireplace and set the drinks in the middle. 

“Spock, something’s burning.”

“You are in front of the fire, Jim.”

“No, it’s...oh damn, it’s the bread, Spock! Turn off the oven!”

The wooden ladle dropped into the sauce pan and Spock wrenched open the oven, pulling out the tray of garlic bread with a towel. He stood there staring down at the charred slices. His eyebrows were close together and his cheeks were tinted green by the time Jim reached him. Jim laughed and rubbed the back of his neck as he examined the wounded bread.

“It’s not that bad, Spock. It’s just the crust. You saved them just in time.” 

He kissed Spock’s cheek and sent another wave of grace and humor through the bond to dispel Spock’s self-criticism. It was just bread.

“Go sit down and I’ll bring you a plate.”

“Jim, I should—”

“Go. Sit.” Jim used his Captain voice and kissed Spock again, flicking him behind the ear. “Pour the wine.”

He brought the two plates filled with pasta and sauce and garlic bread to the living room and set them down before flopping gracefully onto the floor. Spock was kneeling and filling Jim’s glass with wine. His hand held the bottle expertly and brought it up without a drop spilt. He remained kneeling and sitting on his calves, his back straight and perfect, while Jim had one leg crossed out in front of him and the other knee propped up so he could rest his elbow. He leaned back against the bottom of the sofa and stared into the fire.

They ate in silence, their approval and simple enjoyment of the food humming in their shared mind space. The fire cast shadows over the table and the plates, and over each of them as well. They took turns staring at each other, aware that it was happening. Jim smiled at his food as he ate, finishing every piece of pasta and using the garlic bread to wipe the sauce. Through Spock’s mind, he saw Spock’s view as his eyes studied the flickering light across his face. One side glowed soft and orange while the other side of his face remained hidden. The same with his throat where the light illuminated only one side as he chewed and swallowed his food. The chords in his neck shifted and Jim tilted his head back to drink some wine, watching through Spock’s eyes as his own neck flushed and worked into the dip between his collarbones, also flickering in depth and light, down onto the broad expanse of his chest and the trail of shadow between his pectoral muscles barely visible above the stretched collar of his shirt. Jim said nothing. Just controlled his breathing and tamped down his arousal at seeing himself directly through Spock’s eyes in such a way. Instead, he pressed adoration and worship through the bond, more enamoured simply with the fact that Spock looked at him that way at all. 

Spock reached across the small table and tilted Jim’s chin with his finger. His eyes shone black in the firelight. Only the tips of his eyebrows caught the light, making him look even more ardent and focused. The shine of his hair reminded Jim of horses he’d seen back home, the dark black ones that caught the sun in their manes—the juxtaposition of bright light against such dark and silky hair.

“I can look at you no other way, Jim.” His thumb stroked Jim’s jaw with light, soft touches. Restrained contact. 

Jim smiled, not caring how sappy he might look. “Can I not be awed and surprised anew every time? No one else has ever looked at me that way. Each time, I’m tempted to turn around and see who’s behind me that you’re really staring at.”

Spock leaned closer, blindly pushing their plates aside. “No one has ever looked at you like this before because no one else is Vulcan. And the fact that you doubt your self-worth because of the trials and traumas you have hid all your life under a veneer of in-penetrating confidence—”

“I don’t hide, Spock,” Jim said firmly. “I’ve never hid. Don’t make me into some damsel.”

Spock’s eyes softened. “Never. But you have had to protect yourself on your own for so long. Is this not true? Emotions are a hindrance. A distraction. Getting close to another and allowing them to see you and you them is not a luxury to afford. It is not an endeavor that has ever ended well and so, logically, it is better to avoid its temptations all together. I have learned this about you, my Jim.”

A thumb wiped Jim’s tear before it could fall. He blinked hard several times. Spock just watched. Waiting. Always waiting for him.

“You’re different. You’re never going to leave me. Or make me leave you.”

“Never,” Spock whispered. 

“I can trust you.”

‘With everything.”

“I—you... Spock, even if I tried to pretend with you, it wouldn’t work. You know how broken I am, more than anyone else knows besides Bones.” 

Jim licked his lips. “But the way you look at me, like you see right through me and still _want_ everything you find. I...I don’t know why. And I don’t want to let you down.”

Jim had moved away from the table and was sitting cross-legged by the fire. Spock had closed the entire distance and had both hands on Jim’s neck now, caressing the sides with his thumbs. Jim felt waves of peace and confused awe pushed against him. 

“Jim. Ashayam, you know I have hidden behind a veneer myself. That I, a child of two worlds who never felt they belonged, also decided that self-protection was all that mattered.”

“You let Uhura help with that.” Jim felt guilty for the barb he knew it sent, but he couldn’t help it. 

Spock raised an eyebrow in return. “And you your many paramours. Yet none of it matters.”

Spock’s hands roamed down Jim’s arms and squeezed, making their way to the fists in his lap. He worked Jim’s fingers loose from their anxious hold and rubbed his thumbs hard into Jim’s palms in slow, circular motions.

“I, ironically,” Spock said, “let myself get closer to emotional explorations and attachments through the depth of my former relationship with Ltn. Uhura. While you maintained all your encounters at a very surfaced level.”

“You’re saying I’ve never loved as hard as you and that’s why I can’t understand why I would be loved in return?”

“Not...precisely in those terms, ashayam. You have had far more responsibilities to concern yourself with. And this...” Spock sighed. “This discussion could continue all night without achieving its purpose. I love you, my Jim, because you are the half of my heart and my soul. And it is not up to you to understand why. You feel the authenticity of this in the bond, and I feel your truth in return.”

Jim crawled closer until he was straddling Spock’s lap. He rubbed Spock’s shoulders and pressed his forehead close. Spock’s hands rested at his waist, still caressing gently and roaming the length of his spine. Jim took in a small, shaky breath.

“What if you only love me because of the bond? It’s a Vulcan bond, but I’m not Vulcan. What if it’s only telling you to love me? And then, when another Vulcan comes along, someone better suited for you, the bond will switch to them and you’ll decide they’re your new heart and soul. How can you be sure it’s me? I don’t understand the strength of this. How do I know I’m loving you in return as much as this bond needs you to be loved? How do I know—”

Spock’s fingers covered Jim’s mouth and he closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths. He was tense against Jim’s hands on his chest.

_“Please don’t be angry with me.”_

Spock’s eyebrows drew even closer together and he shook his head, his eyes still closed. When he opened his mouth to speak, his words were soft and calculated.

“That you would even ask such questions proves the truth and depth of your love for me. I love you, James Tiberius Kirk, not because of some bond. The bond exists _because_ I love you. _Because_ I cherish you. You, who see me when no one else does. You, who are always there for me, always by my side, like we were never meant to be separated at all. You are my greatest friend and my dearest treasure. I cannot exist without you. I lost you once and I will never be without you again.”

“But Spock...”

Spock’s mouth pressed into his. Hard. He gripped the back of Jim’s head and held him steady. The other hand took the side of his face, cupping his jaw delicately. Jim moaned quietly. He squeezed Spock’s shoulders and pressed his chest into Spock’s, trying to move his hips closer into Spock’s lap. Static heat surged between them and around them, like a blanket from behind. A shield that would let nothing break in against it.

“ _Feel_ this, Jim. Feel this connection from my body and mind to yours. Feel your very soul reaching for mine. Test the strength of this. This _is_ the bond, ashayam. The bond _is_ us. You and me. _Nothing_ can destroy it. And you. You are all I require. Just as you are.”

Spock devoured his lips again until they were swollen and then he leaned back to stare at Jim’s face in the firelight. Jim gasped and ran his tongue out across his lips. He swallowed.

“I look at you like this, James, because you belong to me. You are mine to look at. You are my mate and I am yours. I belong to you. No one can take me from you, and I will never let anything take you from me. So I look at you like this because there is nothing in the galaxy I would rather gaze upon.”

Jim framed Spock’s face with his hands and stared at him, panting. Spock had a way of explaining to him and reassuring him that left no space for doubt, his old and constant companion. 

_“And I will reassure you as often as you need. And more. It is my duty and my privilege.”_

And at that, Jim began tearing at Spock’s robes, trying to expose his chest and shove his sleeves down his shoulders. Spock maneuvered to help and loosened the tie around his waist.

“You know, most people don’t say things like that anymore.” He panted into Spock’s mouth.

His hands turned clumsy and Spock took over, pressing his face into Jim’s throat, running his hands over the thin material covering Jim’s chest and shoulders. Jim’s nipples were hard and Spock felt it, pressing his thumbs into them through the shirt and moving his mouth lower across the expanse of skin Jim’s stretched shirt provided.

“Most _people_ are not Vulcan.”

Spock gripped Jim’s biceps and raised his arms up straight and in one fluid motion had his shirt lifted over his head. Jim flung the shirt aside. It hung on one hand still as he gripped the back of Spock’s neck. Spock stretched the elastic drawstring of Jim’s sweatpants and pulled them down around Jim’s ass. His eyes glinted to find Jim wearing no boxers. He cradled the back of Jim’s head and pushed him onto the floor with another hand on his chest. Jim gaped up at him as he took Jim’s legs and rolled the sweatpants off of them, taking his socks clean off as well. Spock held Jim’s legs up and let them rest on his shoulders. He kissed the ankle near his mouth. Jim kept his calves on Spock’s shoulders as Spock raised up and pulled the rest of his robes from his own body, tossing it across the room without looking. 

‘We...” Jim panted and drove his head into the hardwood floor. He pulled his hips up by digging his calves into Spock’s shoulders. “We need to put away the food in the kitchen.”

Spock paused from where he had been suckling at Jim’s ankles and massaging his feet. He blinked casually and shook his head. “I do not think so.” 

Jim groaned and grinned as Spock continued massaging with long hard strokes of his strong hands up the muscles of Jim’s calves. His fingers dug into Jim’s thighs, which had fallen open in Spock’s lap. Jim tried to reach for him, but Spock brushed him away.

“Not yet. Stretch your arms above your head. Now.”

Jim shivered at Spock’s tone and slowly obeyed. He knew this stretched and tightened his chest muscles together, bulged his arms, and opened his rib cage and the muscles of his sides. Spock’s eyes zeroed in on Jim’s thick chest, on the deep ravine between his pectorals, wanting to feel the heaviness, but restraining himself. He stretched higher along the floor, arching his neck and chest and presenting himself. This act alone nearly made him come, the anticipation that such seductive submissiveness brought. He knew how to turn Spock on and he loved playing into it. Jim’s firm abs clenched to keep his weight centered and he deliberately thrust his torso higher. Spock’s panting came harsh and painful. His hands on Jim's upper thighs gripped deep bruises. Jim lifted his head and let his eyes rake slowly over Spock’s lean torso, the lush hair of his chest and the carved muscle of flushed jade. Spock’s nipples sat hard across his wide, flat chest. 

Through the bond Jim could feel a swarm of blood and passion and Spock’s thoughts in a rush of _sobeautifulmyJimsoperfect. Allminemusttouchmustentermustpleasure_. Jim moaned and tried to let his thighs fall open more, even though Spock had spread them already and they could go no wider. His own thoughts were incoherent, but Spock could hear and he felt through him his own babbling of _ohgodohgodSpockpleasetakemenowjusttakemefuckmefillmeupneedyou_. Spock’s hands gripped his hipbones so hard Jim cried out and arched up, letting Spock yank him further onto his lap while he still lay sprawled on the floor. Jim wrapped his legs around Spock’s waist, trying to cross his calves behind Spock’s back and hold him trapped between his thighs.

Spock’s strong hands squeezed slowly up Jim’s sides. Up and back down. His thumbs pressed into each abdominal muscle and his fingers jutted into the spaces of each rib. He brought his hands low, pressing this thumbs close together and sweeping down the triangle of Jim’s trim hips. Jim gasped and arched his chest off the floor, lengthening his torso for Spock’s hands. Spock whimpered and pressed into each curve. Jim’s erection was flat on his belly, begging, but Spock’s thumbs pressed down underneath it, stroking and massaging down into the dense golden hair of his groin. 

Jim shivered and moaned and tried to keep his eyes open on Spock, watch the fireplace play with his handsome features. He was so warm and so content and so aching to be filled and cared for. He could die with Spock’s hands upon him. The bond shook fiercely at this and Jim pressed an apology through, urged the fingers to resume their caressing. Spock glared at him from under his brows and clenched his jaw.

Spock brought his palms flat on Jim’s torso and spread them slowly up his chest and back down. Agonizing, feeling every sensation from Jim’s flushed skin, his body’s responses. He soaked up Jim’s pleasure and Jim gave him more. Spock growled and dug the heels of his hands into Jim’s chest. Jim cried out and gasped. He couldn’t arch his back into the touch from the weight of Spock’s hands, pressing him to the floor, dragging his palms across Jim’s nipples, sliding them between his fingers. He twisted and pinched them with his thumb and forefinger and then had to swiftly release one in order to reach down and grab the base of Jim’s penis to stop him coming. Jim could hear himself groaning a litany of curses. He quivered from head to toe and felt sweat roll down his neck and collect in the hollow of his throat. He felt it gather around Spock’s fingers on his chest. He tried to arch his back again and made a keening noise. His knees, wrapped around Spock’s waist, shook.

Spock snapped into action once more, gripping Jim’s chest and swooning down to suck at Jim’s nipples. He took the hard flesh between his teeth, lapping at it with his tongue, one side after the other. He pressed his open lips down upon Jim’s breast, mouthing at the muscle that heaved underneath him. Jim’s chest rose and fell as he sobbed, and Spock rode his responses. He dragged his tongue up to Jim’s throat and weaved it in and among the chords and straining tendons. Jim threw his head back, arching his neck into Spock’s teeth. Pressing his weight into hands, still above his head, into the floor, he tipped his chin back as far as he could until his mouth gaped with a shrill cry. Spock moaned and lapped the salt and sweat from his skin and bit Jim’s neck over and over. Jim tried to squeeze his legs and slide himself closer to Spock’s body. His back slipped and slid across Spock’s thighs where he was draped. His sweat rolled to the small of his back and trickled between his ass, already wet and clenching. 

Repeatedly and purposefully, Spock sucked under Jim’s left collarbone, in the dip underneath where he’d shared of his injuries from Frank. Spock’s tongue drove like a blade. Jim’s mind wandered, unbidden, to that shard of window glass that had stabbed him so long ago. How deep it had pierced him, how it drove deeper when Frank towered over him and crushed him with his boot. How frightened and furious he’d been. How he’d screamed even when he’d sworn to himself he’d never give Frank the satisfaction. His agony grew like coals catching flame, rising, like the heat beside them on the floor. And then he realized it wasn’t his own but Spock’s, surging and rolling through the bond. Spock’s fingers shook. Nails raked his ribs and Spock bit his collarbone, clamped his jaw around it. He could feel the growls vibrating into his chest. Again and again, Spock lapped at the childhood wound, as if to purge all memory of former hurt. 

Jim grasped the back of his head, petting him as Spock whined, lost. _SoangrysowrongmyJimneverhurtmyJimmine. Howdarehetouchyouneveragainnonever_. The tremors in Spock’s mind grew faster and Jim could feel him desperately trying to reign it in. He tried to help by redirecting thoughts to what he wanted. Pleasing him would fulfill Spock like nothing else. That’s what Spock wanted. He could give him that.

Spock’s mouth froze. It bit hard under Jim’s jaw and brutal strength held him pinned. For a brief second Jim wondered if something had happened. 

“Your love is not some _transaction_ for me," he growled. "And I will _never_ forget what has been done to you. Vulcans do not let such things slide. _You_ will drive me to madness first with your incessant selflessness. _I_ am not selfless, t’yl’a.”

Then Spock held Jim’s arms steady above his head and gripped his wrists. Jim pushed and pulled, moaning, as Spock bit and suckled along his biceps, down into the mass of muscle bunched at his raised shoulder. He sank his teeth in and Jim screamed in painful pleasure. Spock freed one hand to run his tongue along Jim’s forearm, bite the fragile skin at his wrist and hold his mouth against it to feel Jim’s pulse racing on his lips. His tongue licked up Jim’s palm and along his fingers. Spock brought Jim’s arm down between them, folded, while he licked Jim’s fingers. He was moaning and sucking and Jim submitted, shoving his fingers between Spock’s lips into his mouth. Spock gasped and paused, his face flushed entirely green.

Jim grinned and moaned, arching his neck while he undulated his fingers inside Spock’s mouth. He gasped, heaving his chest up against Spock’s, and Spock’s arm caught his side to hold him there. His nails scratched the roof of Spock’s mouth and scraped his tongue. Spock keened around Jim’s fingers, soon abandoning everything else and gripping Jim’s wrist with both hands. His tongue worked between Jim’s fingers and he bit down, feeling the brittle bones and knuckles. Jim stretched his fingers wide as Spock bit him, and when he was able to slip them free from between his teeth, he waited until Spock could open his glazed eyes and witness him shoving those fingers, covered in Spock’s saliva, deep into his own mouth. Down his throat as he again arched his neck and moaned deep. Spock choked and sobbed with _jimjimjim_. With his free hand still above his head, Jim reached down fast and stopped Spock’s own orgasm. It was only fair to return the favor. He slipped his fingers from his lips with loud popping noises. Spock cringed and moaned with each one.

Flushed and panting, they both stared at each other and tried to catch their breath. Jim let his eyes swoon seductively as he unwrapped his legs from Spock’s waist and pushed himself off the floor. He scooted back so Spock could see all of him while he knelt on the floor. He knew his body. He knew how the firelight was catching his toned muscles, how the sweat covering him was glistening, rolling down slowly across hard, flushed skin. He watched Spock’s eyes dissect him up and down. But he would show Spock even more. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do, seeing as how Spock was still trying and failing to catch his breath. But this was shore leave after all. 

Sitting straight, Jim let himself take deep breaths and set his glistening, firm torso on display for the flickering light. Expanding and contracting, rippling. Spock reached for him, but he shook his head, swaying it slowly. Then he took the same fingers that had been in Spock’s mouth and sucked on them again. Spock whined and shook but then Jim, leering seductively, reached down his back behind him, and inserted his wet forefinger inside himself. He could barely hear his own gasp over Spock’s. He threw his head back and moaned at the ceiling.

It was so hard to move slowly. He wiggled his forefinger and rolled his knuckle and then without waiting, slipped his middle finger inside too. The stretch and sting had him clenching his eyes shut and crying out. He circled his hips slowly and scissored his fingers, trying to relax and open himself up. Against the agonizing pleasure, he peered his eyes open to find Spock hunched over. Fists on his knees. His eyes blown fully black. Still watching Spock and heaving his torso and throat out, he inserted a third finger. His mouth opened wide as he groaned over and over. He was thrusting down on his fingers now, stretching himself looser and looser, but still so tight. After a few moments, he yanked his hand loose and gasped, rising up on his knees from the sting. Spock surged forward, but Jim shoved him, pushed with his hands on Spock’s chest until Spock was on his back on the floor before the fireplace and Jim was sitting tall and straight on his hips. Jim held himself up with his hands curling in Spock’s chest hair while he panted and glared into Spock’s wide eyes. Spock trembled and let his mouth fall open, his eyes roll back. He gripped Jim’s hips, massaged with his thumb, and held himself still on the ground.

“Watch me,” Jim rasped. “Watch me take you inside me.” 

Spock’s eyes widened as Jim pushed himself up and braced his knees against the sides of Spock’s torso. He felt the tip of Spock’s erection brush against him. They both gasped and Jim brushed over it again, letting the slick cover him. He took Spock in hand without letting his eyes leave his face, even as Spock’s eyes clenched shut. He smeared the slick along Spock’s erection and positioned himself over it.

“Look at me, Spock.” 

Spock let his eyes fly open wide despite the fluttering of his lashes. His fingers gripped Jim’s hips, but only for something to grasp. Jim took his right hand that had prepared Spock’s penis, and brought it to his mouth. Spock groaned low in his throat as Jim licked the pre-ejaculate from his fingers. Then, his hands braced on Spock’s chest once more, he lowered himself slowly onto Spock.

Relax, relax, relax, he had to remind himself. Spock was huge and he loved it and the anticipation of seeing it and knowing it would soon be snug inside him was enough to set his pulse flying, but he had to control this now. They both cried out as the tip of Spock’s penis breached him, stretching Jim’s muscles around it. Jim gasped and took another centimeter. And another. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. Spock was panting through clenched teeth.

“Shhhhhh,” Jim soothed. ‘Relax. Watch me.” His whispering sounded more like hissing as he too tried to control his breathing. 

When he knew Spock was coherent and focused once more, he threw his head back, arched his neck and chest. He grabbed for Spock’s hand and took it from his hip to guide it slowly up his chest. Spock stayed to tease a nipple, but then took over and slid higher to grasp Jim’s throat. 

“Yes,” Jim moaned. His throat vibrated in Spock’s hand. The fingers caressed and trembled. Spock’s other hand took up residence once more on Jim’s chest, fingers spread wide and covering.

Bit by bit he took more of Spock in while he watched his mate’s face. He took time to adjust to the fullness, pause to shift his hips and breathe. Wait for the stretch to stop stinging. But it burned and he wanted to chase that burn. Spock filled him so fucking tight. The sensitivity of feeling himself stretched around that hot, swelling member was enough to make him lose his rhythm. Spock followed every twitch of his face, every contortion of ecstasy. 

He was approaching the thickest part now and he cried out, having to close his eyes for a moment, before forcing them open with harsh clarity and moaning. He covered Spock’s hand on his throat with his own hand, pressing their fingers together in kisses. More and more he was stuffed full and then when he thought he couldn’t take any more, he passed the widest part. He paused and they both caught their breath, panting. Jim let himself slide down onto the last few centimeters and then he was seated and Spock was fully inside him. He ground his hips slowly to adjust to the utter fullness, waiting for his stretching muscles to relax. He took Spock’s hand on his throat and brought it to his mouth, slipping the fingers in around his lips. Spock’s entire body jerked, his hips shoving up into Jim. His penis moved hard inside him, and Jim clenched around him with a moan. His mouth sucked tight around Spock’s fingers too. Spock was whining, gasping high and thin as Jim's tongue worked between the web of each long finger. Spock's thumb gripped his jaw, the other hand digging into Jim's hip for stability. After a moment, Jim took pity on him and let Spock's fingers slip free with a long lick as Spock tried to compose himself. Spock's hand, wet with Jim’s saliva, slowly took up his chest again. And Jim leaned forward slightly, crying out at the new angle, and braced his shaking arms on Spock’s chest.

“My James,” Spock managed. “You are so beautiful.”

“So are you.” Jim panted, laughing. “And big.”

He wiggled his hips some more, fully seated on Spock with no more length to gain. He wanted to cry with the pure pleasure of it. Spock _inside_ him. He stretched so perfectly around Spock. Nothing could fill him so completely. His entire body squeezed the hot length inside him. But then Spock took him by his waist and lifted Jim off his penis for a few inches. Jim gasped and clenched his abdominal muscles, and Spock blinked hard to keep composure. Then he moaned as Spock shoved himself back in at a direct angle that hit Jim's prostrate. 

“Sp—aaaaagh! Oh Spock!” 

Spock smirked at his accomplishment and held Jim’s hips in that position for reference. Jim pushed off of Spock’s chest and raised himself up, slamming down again and again. He ground his hips in seductive circles, feeling every angle of his body filled with Spock, who matched Jim’s rhythm while huffing through an open mouth. Then he was being lifted and slammed back down again. Feeling Spock impale him and split him apart over and over. A cry ripped from his mouth each time he landed and became fully seated with no space left between their bodies. He closed his eyes and moaned, trying to establish a quick pace. His own erection sat heavy against his belly, but he knew Spock would not rush to take him in hand just yet. 

“Open your eyes, Jim. Look at me.”

Jim managed to obey a few seconds later and then Spock was gripping his hips again and slamming Jim down onto him. He bucked up to meet Jim each time, thrusting his hips and pulling Jim down hard on him. Air whooshed from their lungs. Jim cried out each time he bore down on Spock. He didn’t even want Spock to touch him anymore. Nothing could break the bruising grip he had on his hips. Spock was thrusting up hard off the floor now, and the muscles in his neck and chest bulged with controlled effort. Jim’s thighs juddered. His arms threatened to give out from where he’d still braced his hands in Spock’s chest hair. 

“Spock!” he cried over and over, unsure what was out loud and what was in his mind.

It was coming and building, and their mind space was awash with light and heat. Spock slipped into his mind and kissed him there, though he left his actual hands on Jim’s hips. Jim keened at the sensation of _lovelovesomuchlovet’yl’a. Perfectsoperfect. YesmyJimletgoIwillcatchyou._ He tried, but couldn’t keep his eyes open as he came and shook and covered himself up to his chest. He screamed and threw his head back to let all of it out. He’d clenched _hard_ around Spock and then Spock was breathing through his nose, easily holding a lax Jim up by the hips as he pounded up into him. Jim’s mouth was gaping and he managed to twirl Spock’s chest hair gently in his fingers while he kept his head tilted back, lolling with each jerk of his body from Spock. Then Spock yelled long and Jim let loose a high moan as he felt Spock swell and shoot up deep inside him, three, four, five times. It filled him, coating him everywhere. Smug, glorious bastard. 

Then Spock was catching him as he slumped forward, smearing them both in his release. Spock wrapped his arms tight around Jim and held him to his chest. They held each other and gasped in air for a long minute. Then Spock drew his knees up and Jim’s hazed eyes flew open at the changed angle of Spock, still hard, inside him. He gasped at the sensitivity and quieted with Spock’s shushes and pets.

“I’ll never understand how you do that,” he mumbled. He wondered if he was drooling on Spock’s chest, but he considered it was the least offensive of the fluids currently covering him. He pressed his mouth into the skin and left lazy kisses.

“It is logical,” Spock answered. He stroked Jim’s sweaty hair, scratching his scalp and cupping the back of his head tenderly. He swallowed twice to regain his voice. “For a species that can so quickly become underpopulated, Vulcans maximize all chances of conception during copulation. A male’s penis will stay hard inside its mate for up to fifteen minutes after release in order to ensure his semen does not leak out.”

“So you’re plugging me.” Jim laughed and his body clenched again. Spock twitched deep inside him at the pressure and Jim sighed happily. He moaned and closed his eyes and let his head stay nestled under Spock’s chin. He was facing the fire and he watched the flickering light from behind his eyelids. 

“This is so much more than just sex,” Jim whispered. “Isn’t it? I’ve had sex before. And you too. It’s not like this. I mean, look at us. We were having dinner. How did it turn to sex so fast? This is...Spock, I can think of nothing else if I’m anticipating this. I want you so badly at times that I could...”

“Only at times?” Spock’s fingers paused in their stroking. Jim could feel the smile against the crown of his head.

“The bond demands it,” Spock said simply. “There was a more...satisfying way I could pleasure you than what your delicious meal could offer us.”

“Okay first, delicious meal my ass. You burnt the toast. And second, you said the bond exists because of us, so are we not inadvertently then demanding it of each other? Do you think Starfleet Command would accept that for breaking regulations? ‘Oh yes, I’m sorry, Admiral Beckett, but it seems the Captain and First Officer of Starfleet’s flagship are horny rabbits for each other and would like special permission to—’”

Spock chuckled, actually laughed softly. The rumble in his chest vibrated against Jim, and Jim squirmed closer into it, despite the drying semen between them. 

“As a matter of fact, ashayam, Vulcan law supersedes Starfleet interference according to Federation interplanetary peace agreements. The bond we share is so reserved by Vulcan law that, legally, Starfleet can do nothing to separate us unwillingly during active duty or even reserved. So...you may be my horny rabbit all you like, my Jim.”

It was Jim’s turn to laugh and Spock’s hands moved to smooth up and down over his back. He panted against Spock’s chest in laughter, again moaning happily when Spock shifted inside him. He splayed his hands over Spock’s shoulders and pressed kisses up under his jaw, begging Spock to stay sheathed in him for a while longer.

“How are you even real? That’s possibly the sexiest thing you’ve said all day.”

Spock kneaded circles into Jim’s back muscles, between his shoulder blades and along his spine, pressing hard into the small of Jim’s back. Despite Jim’s wish, he was softening and relaxing Jim to prepare to release him painlessly. Jim still groaned at the coolness and sudden emptiness when Spock lowered his legs and lifted Jim slightly. His body clenched around nothing for a moment and he stretched his legs, which had still curled up on either side of Spock’s torso the entire time. Despite Spock’s extended erection time, his semen still trickled down between his legs to the inside of his knees. He let his thighs flop wide and parted now around Spock’s legs, not caring. But Spock also felt the wetness coating his inner thighs and breathed low and deep to control another erection so soon, so easily brought on from feeling his own semen leaking out of his mate. Instead, they tangled their feet together and stayed in the comfortable warmth of the fireplace.

“I shall have to remember that, then,” Spock said. 

“To be honest, everything you say is kind of sexy. When you give me percentages in your reports, I get a little hard every time.”

Spock hummed at this information. “Indeed? Well I can certainly endeavor to provide you with accurate information to the fourth decimal place whenever possible.”

“The third is fine. Don’t get too carried away, mister.”

“Never.” Spock kissed Jim’s hair and wrapped his arms around Jim’s chest once more. “Except with you, I might make an exception.”

Jim smiled against Spock’s shoulder, nearly asleep. “Permission granted.” He yawned wide and snuggled tighter.

“Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“Your breakfast toast in the morning will be ready and waiting for you in perfect condition.” 

Jim snorted. “Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps this should have been multiple chapters, but oh well. The red flannel shirt felt mandatory lol, and I imagine the hat Spock makes Jim wear as one similar to what he wore in that episode. 
> 
> At different points when I write these, I have different ideas on how specific their mental communication is--whether it's literal nonverbal dialogue or more like just sensations and emotions.


End file.
